In this mood L’Isle was listening, with a curled lip, to an animated discussion between Lady Mabel, Sir Charles Moreton, and another gentleman, as to the merits of a new actress, a dramatic meteor, then briefly eminent on the London boards.  The Honorable Mr. L——­, who was a savant in the small sciences that cater to amusement, pronounced her the Siddons of the day; Lady Mabel called her a ranter, then, as if alarmed at her temerity, appealed as usual to L’Isle.

“No one can be a better judge of acting than Lady Mabel,” said L’Isle.  “But for her opinion, I would call your favorite an indifferently good actress.”

Thus to “damn with faint praise,” displeased Mr. L——­ more than positive censure, and he exclaimed:  “Then you never saw her play Jane Shore.  The illusion is perfect.  The house is deceived into forgetting the drama, to witness the living and dying agonies of the desolate penitent.  Who can equal her?”

“Many,” answered L’Isle; “and Lady Mabel can do better.”

“Lady Mabel!  She doubtless excels in everything.  But I never saw her act.”

“I have,” said L’Isle bitterly.  “The illusion of Mrs. ——­’s acting is limited to the spectators.  Lady Mabel deceives him who acts with her.”

Lady Mabel turned pale, and then red, while the two gentlemen stared at her and L’Isle alternately.  Suddenly exclaiming, “There is my friend, Mrs. B——.  I have not seen her for a month.  I must go and speak to her,” she accepted the arm of the savant in small things, and hastened after her friend, who had appeared so opportunely.

“You set little value on Lady Mabel’s favors,” said Sir Charles, looking inquisitively at L’Isle.  “You have certainly offended her greatly.”

“Do you think so?” said L’Isle coldly.  “Then I suppose I must apologize and beg my peace.”

“If you do it successfully,” said his companion, “I will be glad of a lesson from you in the art.”

L’Isle was angry with himself.  Not that he felt that he owed Lady Mabel any amends.  But he had never until now made the slightest allusion to certain scenes in the past.  Pride had forbidden it.  And he was still reproaching himself with his want of self-control, when, on entering another room, he saw Lady Mabel seated between two old ladies, having ensconced herself there to get rid of the small savant.

She no longer looked discomposed or angry, nor did she turn her eyes away on his approach.  She almost seemed to wish to speak to him.  So he offered his arm, and they walked toward the room he had just left.

“I know that you are too proud,” she said, “to ask any pardon for the attack you made on me just now.  So I wish to tell you that I have already forgiven it.”

“That is truly generous,” said L’Isle, with haughty irony.  “You prove the adage false which says, ‘The injurer never forgives.’”

“Say you so?  I see then that you have gone back years to dig up old offences.  Although I remember, to repent of them, I trusted that you would have willingly forgiven and forgot my folly, or only recall it to laugh at it.  I know now,” she said, stealing a look at him, “that you are of an unforgetting, unforgiving temper.”  Then looking away, she added, “I thought better of you once.”